Please, Not Like This
by 1potterhead07
Summary: (Drarry Oneshot) Harry is fed up with Draco ignoring him and goes to figure out what's wrong. But it all goes terrible when Draco reacts badly. Soulmate Au!


**Bold** is directly from book 6

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~

Harry was done. Done with everything: especially with people and their whiplash opinions on "The Boy Who Lived."

Everything was changing: the war was coming; it was palpable in the air you breathed, with every glance at the Daily Prophet, with every look into the faces of people who have already lost loved ones. One of the things that changed that upset Harry the most was Malfoy. No matter what was happening, he could always count on the ferret to make fun of the boy. To nag and nag until he got a response, a rise out of him. Even if the world were crashing and burning, which it was, he would be there as a distraction.

But this year, his sixth year, Malfoy was aloof. The boy hardly ever looked at him, let alone talk to him. He didn't go about his typical dramatics of climbing trees, folding cranes, or dressing as a dementor. Draco simply pretended like Harry didn't exist.

And it drove Harry insane.

Malfoy dropped out of Quidditch. _Quidditch_! He went missing off the map for hours at a time, he was always quiet. He jumped at loud noises and flinched at quick, unexpected movements. His eyes always seemed to gravitate to the exits of a room. Harry desperately wanted to go up and demand why the git was being weird, but maybe it was part of Malfoy's plan. And he _wasn't_ going to let Draco win.

Because if the world was ending, Harry needed a raft to keep him afloat.

Shouldn't Draco feel the same?

~

Harry was sitting at breakfast, thinking about the tattoo that formed over his heart when he was ten years old, something that often came to his mind on the quiet mornings or dark nights. It was a little dragon, simple but beautiful. There were words that were written underneath it, in beautiful cursive that looked so familiar.

It reminded Harry of Sirius' regal, pureblooded handwriting. "Hello. Hogwarts too?" it read. Supposedly it was supposed to be the first words ever spoken to you by your soulmate. To Harry's limited knowledge, however, he never remembered anyone saying that or how they would be connected to a dragon. Someone out there had to match it. And if they matched it, then maybe they knew how he felt, being his soulmate and all. Maybe they knew what it was like to have the world against you? Have all this pressure to be someone they weren't, simply because of something out of their control, to be so intensely alone.

Maybe they would know how to help him. How to comfort him and stop his cycle of isolating himself when things became too much. Someone that knew just how to force him out of his head. At least that's what Hermione told him when he got into his so-called moods.

"Hello?" Hermione said, waving a hand in front of his face.

"Hmm?" Harry shook his head as if to clear it from his thoughts.

"Mate, we've been trying to get your attention for the past few minutes." Ron glanced down at Harry's untouched plate of food. Then, he asked him with a tone full of concern, "You alright?"

"Yeah." Harry sighed. "Just tired, is all."

He scanned the crowd. It was so rare that he saw Malfoy's platinum head at the Slytherin table across the hall anymore, but there he was today. His head rested in his hand, mind obviously elsewhere.

Suddenly, an owl flew over Malfoy's head and dropped a letter on the plate in front of him, who took it, startled to be taken out of his thoughts so abruptly. Carefully, he picked it up and opened it, a renewed sense of dread and fear clear in his eyes, though his face was placid. Harry watched as the man scanned the words, his face growing paler and paler, but somehow his expression blank.

Malfoy stood up abruptly, almost tipping the bench back and earning scowls from the people around him, but he didn't notice, he just ran from the room. Something sank in Harry's stomach, which is exactly what made him leap from his seat and go after him.

Harry ignored the confused questions of his friends. When he got out into the hallway, he just barely caught sight of Draco turning the corner and set off after him.

It had been over a year.

Enough was enough.

After a few minutes of following the boy through several corridors, almost losing him a few times, he walked into one the washrooms.

Malfoy was at the sink. His hands grasping at the edge of it, head rested against the mirror. His shoulders rising and falling rapidly. Harry watched as the boy tried to keep himself together. Suddenly, he raised his head and caught Harry in the mirror.

Malfoy was... crying. His hair lost the sleekness it usually had to it. His eyes were red and he looked so broken. A look Harry had worn once himself. A look that truly split your soul apart in the most painful way. If physical pain and emotional pain were the same, it would be the equivalent of the Cruciatus curse itself.

That moment for Harry was watching the only person who understood him die. A person who just got caught in the crossfire because Harry had rushed into something headfirst and without a well-thought-out plan.

That moment for him was watching Sirius Black die. He desperately wanted to know what it was for Draco.

But the brief moment of eye contact was broken when **Malfoy wheeled around, drawing his wand. Instinctively, Harry pulled out his own. Malfoy's hex missed Harry by inches, shattering the lamp on the wall beside him; Harry threw himself sideways, thought Levicorpus! And flicked his wand, but Malfoy blocked the jink and raised his wand to** cast another.

**There was a loud bang and **something** behind Harry exploded; Harry attempted a Leg-Locker Curse that backfired off the wall behind Malfoy's ear and smashed the cistern beneath Moaning Myrtle, who screamed loudly; water poured everywhere and Harry slipped as Malfoy, his face contorted, cried,** "VARI-"

**_"SECTUMSEMPRA!"_** bellowed Harry from the floor, waving his wand wildly. Myrtle ran from the room.

Malfoy froze. There was a moment when nothing happened, as if the spell was defective. Suddenly, gashes opened in his skin. Down his face, on his hand, through his white shirt, which was slowly being died a dark red. Blood seeped from each cut. It all seemed to happen in slow motion, how Draco's legs gave out and how he fell to the floor.

**"No-" gasped Harry**. He ran over to the boy, who began to silently cry. **"No- I didn't-"** his voice broke. Harry ripped open Draco's shirt and revealed his torso, an overwhelming desire to see exactly what he did. There was a cut on his side, one that snaked down under his pant line, one across his chest that sliced through the tattoo over his heart. They wouldn't stop bleeding. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." He repeated, over and over. His mind went blank as he searched for a spell that might fix it, but nothing came to mind. Tears of frustration welled up in his eyes, but he quickly pushed them away.

He pulled the boy closer to him and rested Draco's head on his knee, wishing the boy would sit up and scold him, like he wasn't bleeding out in front of Harry's eyes. _All my fault, all my fault,_ was the only thing that ran through his mind. His eyes moved back to the tattoo over his heart. It was a snitch. Right in the center of the snitch was a small lightning bolt. And curved along under the wings were the words "That's Hagrid. He works at Hogwarts." in Harry's handwriting. But it was sliced into two by the cut that ran through its center.

_"Hello. Hogwarts too?_" Draco had asked.

"_Yes_." Harry had responded. The first real thing he said to him, though, was that sentence.

Draco began to still, his eyes following where Harry was looking. Harry began to panic. He was about to be responsible for murdering his soul mate. He was about to be the one to kill the second person to have ever understand him. The one who kept him afloat as everything around him changed. "Please, _please_ no not like this. Not when I just found you. Please." Harry choked out.

"Potter-"

"No, no, no. Not this too. I can't be responsible for your death too."

"Leave, you have to leave." Draco tried to snap at him, but instead, it came out as more of a plead.

"I'm not going to leave you, you git!"

"Malfoy!" A voice called from outside. Harry stood up, about to do... well he didn't really know.

Snape walked into the washrooms. With one look, he paled and dropped down beside the boy, taking out his wand and running it down the lacerations twisted around Draco. They immediately began to close up, but a streak of shiny skin was left behind. "Out."

"But sir-"

"OUT!" Snape yelled, continuing to heal his wounds. Harry stumbled out of the room, a little more at ease knowing Draco was going to be okay, but still absolutely torn at what he did.

Why didn't harry stop and _think_ sometimes? Hermione warned him to never use the spells from the book! Of course, he didnt pay attention. Why would he?

If Snape hadn't come he would be responsible for _murdering_ his _soulmate_! If he had killed him, Harry didn't know what he would have done. He had already killed Sirius, a weight on his heart that always threatened to crush him when he sat and thought about it for too long, or when he woke up screaming as the memory replayed itself over and over while he slept.

Harry looked up, suddenly acknowledging where he was. He didn't realize, but he was at the hospital wing's big heavy doors. Apparently his feet knew what to do and where to go more than his head. Quickly, he took out the Marauders Map that was hidden just inside his robes. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." He breathed at lighting speed.

The map began to reveal itself at an agonizingly slow pace, as if taunting him. Knowing the Marauders, it could have been. The ink spread out across the pages, becoming darker with each passing second. Harry frantically looked for Snape and Draco's footprints and names. It wasn't hard to find though, as they were coming up the corridor.

He darted behind the nearest suit of armor, concealing himself as best as he could as he watched Snape knock on the door with his free hand. The professor's other arm was snaked under Draco's shoulders, holding him up so the boy was having to use as little strength as possible.

A strong desire to be the one who held Draco up and to be the one who delivered him to Madam Pomfrey. To see that yes, he was going to be okay. A part of him felt like maybe he didn't deserve to, after all, he was the one who put him in that condition.

Harry watched as Madam Pomfrey opened the door. "Goodness, me!" She exclaimed. Then, almost angrily, she asked, "What happened?"

"He got into a duel in the bathrooms with Potter," Snape said, saying Harry's name with such spite it was almost scary.

"Well, bring him inside, then. Come on, hurry up." She snapped impatiently, gesturing them inside. Harry waited anxiously as they disappeared into the room. It felt like forever before Snape left, dramatically straightening his sleeves after he closed the door behind him.

After a minute or two, Harry checked the map once more. Snape was already two corridors away. Madam Pomfrey was back in her office, and Draco was alone in the front of the wing. He stepped out from behind the armor and went straight inside.

Malfoy was sitting up on the first bed to the right. There was no one else in the hospital wing. He looked angry to be there. Obviously he hadn't noticed Harry yet, he was looking at Madam Pomfrey's office door and mumbling how ridiculous it was that he had to stay there when he was fine. There was a small streak across his face where a scar would remain, probably forever permanent. Draco crossed his arms and straightened out, pushing the pillow up a little more. "The blankets aren't even warm." He grumbled.

Then he saw Harry.

"What do you want Potter?" He growled, but it lacked its usual bite.

"Er- Hi."

"...Hi?" Draco repeated, clearly annoyed. "What do you want, I don't have all day."

"Er…" Harry lost all his confidence. A few seconds ago he was so sure of himself. Though now, in the moment, he had absolutely no idea what he was doing or even going to say. They fell into an awkward silence.

"It's not that hard to form thoughts for most people you know," Draco said, irritably.

"How long did you know?" Harry asked, deciding something was better than nothing with Draco. His grey eyes moved from looking at Harry to the boring blanket before him. He shifted, almost as if uncomfortable, and began to pick at the seams.

"Since… Since the day in the shop," He answered quietly. "I thought you did too, but seeing your reaction it is _clear_ you didn't."

"How could I have?"

"Oh, I don't know?" Draco snapped bitterly, "Maybe the simple fact that the first words I've ever said are literally engrained on your skin? Salazar's balls, I can't believe my soulmate is an unobservant, brick wall."

"How was I to know? I was only just eleven, you stupid arsehole. Wait. Is that why you were always trying to get my attention? Because in the first year I rejected you as a friend?" Draco looked away, not answering Harry's question. "I did that because you were a prat! Not that you aren't still a prat."

"What's your plan here? Just coming round to turn me down yet _again_? Clearly not one of the adults you've known has taught you _manners_ before they died." His voice was fierce. Harry was ready to throw another hex at him, but when he looked into his eyes, all that as seen was the shattered remains of a broken heart held together by thick walls. It was those walls that kept Draco from revealing to Harry how truly terrified he was.

But Harry saw it because it was exactly what he was looking for.

The sun came down just enough to where the rays filled the room and made it a little brighter. Malfoy's hair was smoothed down, but not slick like it used to be. His eyes, which were usually grey, were highlighted with the slivers of blue that only happened when the sun hit them just right. "You know what?" Draco snapped after a full minute of silence, "Just go away, you stalker."

"I am not a stalker!"

"Oh, I _beg_ to differ! You followed me into the _bathrooms_. I ought to break those hideous glasses of yours so you can't follow anyone anywhere."

"They are not hideous!" cried Harry indignantly.

"Oh, please! They scream 'help! I have no parents to give me advice about my appearance!'"

"Shut it!"

"Oh, does perfect Potter get sensitive? Go shove a broomstick up your-"

"Malfoy, shut UP!" Harry roared, getting up close to the boys face.

"Make me." He said softly, his tone challenging. Harry didn't move as Draco moved closer and closer, there noses touching. Then Harry gently grabbed his chin, and in one small burst of confidence decided to kiss him.


End file.
